Darning Fruit Garlands Poem by James McLain

How by the gantry of my once elegant home
you pick the fruit off
With your wild cold fists closed in fury.
Darning fruit garlands made of wind.
And the fabulous flutes and who strays.
Peacocks O o'er the peacocks rending the nets
where they play.
Hanging down from the colours,
furled curtains faded male rich your silk pillows.
O decorum which holds the whirl winds behind them.
Now, to the walls
rich over flowing from the walls a deep well I fell;
High above flying wide circles
black croaking of the rook is seen up 'Above'
appalling rocking in ruin;
Dull the light, Of your red stormy eye,
howling it's magic accomplished sweet aim.
None such flight,
Like mine never discouraged such beauty of this witch.
Room in the castle when truths each day it break.
Broken open,
pink prospects between which I hung
braced by pillars of soft rock.
While you are held heroic in the coat and my tie,
I'm forced to sit and 'Compose' naked in your silk.
Walking and while loved rubbing,
the tunic and the psyche-your Greek, 'God'.Lovers again.
Entranced with your black look, thus our play turned tragic.
Where a connection from dots can words connect devastation?


s.p.